


askRF

by louis_quatorze



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:58:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louis_quatorze/pseuds/louis_quatorze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twitter changes a lot of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	askRF

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roadstergal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! Hope you enjoy!

Roger almost didn’t notice it – the Q&As were always overwhelming, although charmingly so – but the DMs lit up a different corner, and it caught his eye before he closed his phone. He didn’t get many. Most of the people he followed were for politics’ sake. If he needed to talk to someone, they usually knew how. 

_@DjokerNole: what are you wearing #AskRF_

Roger snorted despite himself. _A warm-up suit costing more than all your court outfits._

_@DjokerNole: hahaha of course you are_

Well. He was sure he was, too. Roger smirked and slipped his phone back into his pocket.

* * * * *

He should have expected the next one, because if there was one thing Novak could focus on, it would be dumb pictures from the past. Still, though, he had to admit he was surprised that Nole was still bothering to look.

 _@DjokerNole: what the hell is wrong with your hair_

_@rogerfederer: At least mine got better._

_@DjokerNole: my hair’s fine._

_@rogerfederer: Sure it is._

_@DjokerNole: like the cowboy pic though. good look. should do that more often._

_@rogerfederer: Yee-haw?_

_@DjokerNole: you know what they say, save a horse, ride a cowboy ;)_

_@rogerfederer: That is just terrible._

* * * * *

The messages came more frequently after that. Little things. Small conversations. Comments on what Roger is posting, occasionally little frustrations of Novak’s. It’s nothing of any consequence, but that made them all the more pleasant.

It’s funny – it’s not like Roger ever much liked Novak. Novak was a bit too enamored of his own cleverness, too quick to turn any situation into a way to keep the eyes on him. Roger’s general attitude towards him was one of toleration – he was never rude, never mean, but that may have been more because of the politics. Tennis was all about manners, a tradition Roger respected (perhaps too much), and so he kept himself polite. Not that Novak ever did, but someone had to stay respectable.

Novak on Twitter, though, was different. It was hard to say how exactly. He was still kind of an asshole, more than kind of cocky, prone to awful jokes. But he was different when there wasn’t an audience in front of him to play to. He was more observant, willing to talk about things that weren’t himself. He was responsive to discussions. His jokes were even a little better.

Roger supposed it could have been someone else running the account. An intern, an unemployed cousin. Either would explain why Twitter-Novak was more engaging company. Roger had considered just having an assistant run his before deciding it was more fun to do it himself. He liked the outlet. It gave him the ability to have a somewhat-normal conversation with the world. He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted that until he’d started.

Novak’s Twitter account was much more standard. It could be someone else running it. Roger supposed he could ask. He had Novak’s number. He’d see Novak, and not infrequently. He just didn’t want to break the spell of the whole thing, and taking their conversations off Twitter seemed like it would ruin it. There was something about the application, the icon, the short statements. It created a space where he and Novak could talk without the pressure of the rest of the world on top of them.

Roger was pretty sure he hadn’t wanted that, but now he was unwilling to give it up.

 

* * * * *

It could have continued like that. Roger had expected it to. Roger would have thought of it as a prolonged flirtation, if it was face-to-face, but over the Internet it was a bit harder to tell. It felt like a game. As with the conversations themselves, they had a bit of an unreal quality, as much as Roger liked playing. 

It was, Roger had thought, a fairly innocuous picture of clouds that set it off. Novak had to have been planning an opening, that was the only thing Roger could think of. 

_@DjokerNole: what do I see? hmm ill show you_

Then a picture, shot down what appeared to be Novak’s chest, a thin trail of dark hair leading down a flat, toned stomach towards the waistband of a pair of tight, white briefs. Tight enough to clearly show the outline of a hard cock, just barely contained. Novak’s thumb rested against the band, not tugging enough to show anything, but with the suggestion that it could. Roger swallowed hard. 

This was not exactly safe, for either of them. Twitter wasn’t the most secure thing in the world. Roger wanted to care a lot more than he did. Mostly, he couldn’t stop staring. Novak knew him better than Roger thought, to send him that. It wasn’t your garden-variety dick pic, poorly-lit with a barely-in-focus bare erection. It was restrained, which Roger hadn’t thought Novak capable of, and that restraint made it irresistibly attractive. 

For once, Roger was at a loss for words. He wasn’t about to send one back (although he definitely could at this point, with the effect Novak’s picture was having on him) but he had to say something. 

_@rogerfederer: Not bad._

It wasn’t the most eloquent thing Roger could have replied, but he supposed it did the job. He wasn’t exactly sure of the game that Novak was playing, but Roger wasn’t one to lose.

* * * * *

It didn’t take long after that for Roger to run into Novak in person. It felt strange, despite how often he regularly saw the other player. Reality, though, was different than Twitter. They were both surrounded here, by their entourages and other players, compared to the quiet isolation of his phone or iPad. Usually, he never noticed that kind of thing, but he wished he was on his couch right now.

His phone buzzed.

_@DjokerNole: want to meet up out of here?_

Roger raised his head, meeting Novak’s eyes. The other player raised an eyebrow, then raised his phone just slightly. 

Damn him, but Roger wasn’t about to lose now.

_@rogerfederer: Tell me where and when._

* * * * *

Novak was, as promised, alone. Roger knew how rare that was, in their line of work. None of them were here without an entourage, a clutch of trainers and physios and assistants and everything else that made them possible. The house was empty but for Novak and it made Roger feel slightly unsettled, being here. This was Novak’s space, and Novak’s prompting to be here, and Roger didn’t like not being in control.

“This is a little weird, isn’t it?” Novak said.

“Perhaps,” Roger replied, leaning against the kitchen island in careful nonchalance. “It was your idea.”

“You agreed.” 

Roger shrugged. Maybe they should be doing this over their phones, through Twitter. It would probably be easier. But Roger only looked effortless – he knew he had to put in the hard work. “I saw something interesting.”

That seemed to wake Novak up. “Oh yeah?” 

“Might need to see it again to be sure.” 

That got a grin out of Novak. “Yeah?”

“Can’t trust the Internet. Lots is Photoshopped these days.” 

That was a challenge, and Roger was gratified at Novak’s affronted look before he closed the distance and kissed him.

It wasn’t that Roger had thought of kissing Novak before recently, but the thoughts h had been frequent of late. The picture – well. That was enough to put the idea in his mind. Novak kissed as if he was curious as well, although it didn’t do enough to hide that often-irritating confidence of his. In this situation, though, Roger would let him have it, since he seemed to be good at it. Novak licked at the side of Roger’s neck and he shivered, grabbing at Novak’s hips as he tilted his head back. His thigh found the way between Novak’s legs, and it seemed that the photograph wasn’t much exaggerated. Only one way to be sure, however.

“Where’s the bedroom, Novak?” Roger murmured, a question that might have been more easily answered if he didn’t have his leg so tightly pressed against Novak’s growing erection.

“Yeah,” Novak panted, pulling away and turning, and Roger caught his breath before following. It was strange to think that it had all led up to this, but his blood was pounding too hard to not follow.

Novak was dropping his clothes by the time he entered the bedroom, and he was, indeed, wearing those briefs, taut against his ass and Roger wrapped a palm around it, turning Novak towards him. “Dangerous, sending that picture,” he murmured, rubbing his fingertips against the bulge in Novak’s briefs, as firm and eager as it had looked online, thick and hard and ready. 

“Yeah, well,” Novak panted, tilting his neck back, eyes bright. “It worked, didn’t it?” He slipped open the button on Roger’s jeans, slid down the zipper. His fingers ventured inside, bypassing Roger’s cock to press at the junction of his thigh. “Got you here.”

“Could have messed up.” Roger rubbed his thumb against the head of Novak’s cock, over the stretched white fabric. 

“Good thing it didn’t.” Novak pushed down Roger’s jeans and pushed up his shirt, and Roger reluctantly stopped touching Novak to help. Satisfied, Novak pulled them both to the bed, kneeling over Roger and finally pulling those briefs down, cock springing free in front of him. Flushed red, thick as promised, and Roger wanted badly. 

Novak smirked as he saw where Roger’s eyes went and pulled down Roger’s underwear as well, and then they were pressed together, Roger hooking his leg around Novak’s as Novak thrust down against them. They ground against each other, Roger’s cock rubbing against Novak’s, Novak kissing and licking across Roger’s neck and collarbones. 

“Wanna fuck you,” Novak murmured, and Roger groaned at that, thrusting upwards in need. 

“God, yes,” Roger answered, breathing it into Novak’s ear, hand tight against Novak’s shoulder. “Please.”

Novak rolled away rapidly, Roger taking the opportunity to push himself back and spread his legs, palming gently at the base of his cock. He’d been wanting this, he realized, longer than the picture existed. That had only catalyzed things, gave him something to focus on.  
Novak slid a slicked finger into Roger and he pushed his hips up in encouragement, wanting more. Novak gave it to him, pressing and stretching, drawing more moans with his eager fingers. It felt good and Roger needed so badly. “Please, Novak, now.” 

It was a demand quickly obeyed, and Roger cried out as Novak pushed in. It was a big stretch. Novak’s cock wasn’t small and it was eager, so ready to move, and it took Roger’s breath away at first. A few shallow thrusts and Roger had it back. A few more and Roger was moving into them, tilting his hips up so Novak could thrust harder, drive his cock deeper into Roger’s body. His own cock throbbed, leaking onto his chest, and he wrapped his hand around it as Novak focused on fucking him harder. 

The dual sensation was what he needed and he came with a shout, shooting against Novak’s chest. Novak thrust a few more times before coming with a final slam of his hips and a chocked-out noise, eyes wide. Roger wasn’t paying the most attention, riding his afterglow, blissed-out and sated.

It’s several rounds of breath later when Novak pulled out and moves away. Roger heard the condom hit the trash can, Novak’s back hit the bed. They were quiet as their heartbeats calmed down.

Roger broke the quiet first. “Why now?” he asked, towards the ceiling.

Novak laughed. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve known each other a while.”

“Yeah.” Roger felt more than saw Novak’s shrug. “I guess you’re a lot funnier on Twitter. You’re almost like a real person.” 

Roger smiled. That made two of them, then.


End file.
